His Name is Jack
by CanYouDisagree
Summary: When Kurt's Uncle comes to town, everyone's worried, but why does a certain mohawk equipped jock take special interest in Kurt's predicament? When personalities clash, and understanding is the product.
1. Chapter 1

His Name is Jack

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the songs, (Regina Spektor's Raindrops). Nor do I own Glee.

Warnings: Violence, language, mentions of 'wanking.' Undetermined on how graphic the sexual scenes will be. Readers may have input.

It is a Puck/Kurt romance. Puck tops, Kurt bottoms.

I sometimes get discouraged; I have 4 chapters written, and plan to continue writing. Criticism and encouragement are always welcomed to keep me motivated.

No beta: I reread my chapters multiple times, but I'm not perfect, please point out any grammar or punctuation mistakes.

This involves an OC, he is, in a way, vital to the story, which is not all happy. He is a relative of Kurt's who is, basically, an ass. He is meant to be. Don't cut him any slack.

I will update weekly, every Monday. If it gets past the fifty review mark, I'll post early.

Please enjoy.

CanYouDisagree

Chapter 1

His name is Jack, and no it does not rhyme with Burt and Kurt.

Maybe it's because Jack is different.

Appearances

"I thought he only came during Holidays- as in no school." Kurt huffed, standing in front of his father. Their postures were both rigid.

"I know, but his wife kicked him out again, and he's my brother Kurt." Burt looked helplessly at his son, knowing that he'd understand in the end.

Kurt dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily. "I'll just have to tone things down."

"Way down." Burt said as he enveloped his slighter son in a hug.

"I usually wear suits when we go for the family events, so we'll have to go shopping." Kurt scowled at the fact that he would have to wear… common clothing.

Burt clasped his son by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "This doesn't mean I'm ashamed of you, I just don't want you to get hurt."

Kurt smiled softly at his father. "You can't control everything, Dad. Including things like anonymous phone calls." Kurt searched his fathers' eyes as the grip on his shoulders tightened.

"Promise me you'll get the solo next time?" Burt skirted around the subject, his anger boiling beneath his skin.

Kurt gave his fathers' hand a reassuring pat before he walked out of the kitchen. "He's getting here this evening, we should go shopping now." Kurt called over his shoulder.

"We?" The knife Burt had picked up nearly fell from his hand in surprise.

Kurt poked his head around the kitchen doorframe. "Of course, no one knows how to dress up for Uncle Jack like you do."

The Glee club had been whispering to each other beneath their breath, as if afraid of being heard.

"He hasn't worn anything so… normal since elementary school, and even then!" Mercedes sat hunched in her chair, looking excitedly at Brittany, Santana, Tina, and Rachel.

"Maybe we should talk to him. I mean, what if, someone lit his house on fire?" Rachel sat primly, glancing nervously at the door.

"Hey, he didn't even get his normal dose of dumpster this morning. None of the guys noticed him." Puck said from across the room.

"Would you seriously light his house on fire?" Finn asked suspiciously. He liked Kurt, because Kurt helped him through the things with Quinn, and even forgave him for his… comments concerning Kurt's sense of fashion.

"Dude, no way. Though if I could find out a way into his house, I wouldn't deny an urge to mess with every piece of clothing he owns." Puck leaned back and smirked as he imagined the look on Hummel's face when he saw his precious clothing vandalized by crude drawings.

Mercedes was up and out of her chair, making her way across the room with a shaking fist when Mr. Shuester conveniently entered.

He clapped and rubbed his hands together. "Everyone ready for a dare?"

Rachel raised her hand with precision. "Kurt isn't here yet Mr. Shue."

Mr. Shue looked down and gave an alarmingly bright smile. "Kurt has some family in town, so he won't be practicing as much."

Artie's brows furrowed. He knew most of Kurt's family was… different than Kurt and Burt. Not as accepting.

Rachel shifted and crossed her legs, placing her hands on knee. "And who, may I ask, is visiting exactly?" Why Rachel had to know this information, no one knew.

Mr. Shuesters hands fidgeted nervously. "His, ah, Uncle Jack."

Kurt scooped his helping of Lasagna onto his plate, and handed the pan to his Uncle Jack.

"So I hear you're playing football now." Uncle Jack said, giving a look that meant he was not in a mood for argument.

Uncle Jack was a burly man. Built high and wide, though he was not over weight. Although the muscle he had contracted through years of football was no longer muscle, but a sagging fat hanging from his body. The man slightly resembled a Basset Hound, if not for the fact that he was in no way a loping goofy beast. On the other hand, he was a beast, but of the frightening, serious kind. He would stomp into a house, that was not his own, and demand whatever he wished with no regard for the original inhabitants.

Kurt ate his lasagna with difficulty, trying to mimic his Father and Uncle's vulgar eating habits. Not successful in the least Kurt sets his fork down and held his shaking hands in his lap.

"Yes, I'm the kicker, just started this season." Kurt smiled. Uncle Jack gave him a calculating look.

"So you don't do any of the actual work then." Again, it was a statement of fact.

"Kurt does plenty of work Jack, he won McKinley's first game with his kick." Burt looked scathingly at his brother, setting his fork down with a slight bit more force than necessary. He now wished that he had Finn and Carol stay at the house, but he couldn't be sure what kind of light they would shine on the situation. Kurt not being himself was a lot to ask for, and Carol certainly wouldn't be willing to hear his excuse. Family was family, though, and just for a bit, he would put up with Jack.

"You're friends with all the players." Uncle Jack uses another of his 'Statements' to ignore Burt's defense.

Kurt stopped the nervous shift before it happens. "Of course." Finn… They had become friends since Finn started calling him. After the call he had made from the Fabray's toilet, Finn had been calling Kurt every once in a while. Until, that is, Carol and Finn had moved in, now it was more of a nightly brother rant. Though, since Finn had made 'The Mistake,' Kurt has been doing a little more talking, and not as much polite listening.

"I'll come to a practice."

Kurt gulped, why was Uncle Jack incapable of asking a question? "Maybe that isn't such a good idea. Coach Tanaka doesn't like the attention." That excuse sucked ass. They were entertainers, poor entertainers, but entertainers non-the less. They lived for spectators.

"Don't shit with me, I'm coming to your practice. Tomorrow." Uncle Jack gave his final statement as his one-third of Lasagna was left behind. No offers of dishwashing or cleaning up were uttered as he made his way to the couch, leaving behind Burt and Kurt.

"I don't want him to be there, the males on my team have no mercy." Kurt rubbed his face in agitation.

Burt got up and gave his sons head a pat. "It'll be alright." Burt looked certain, because he would first try to convince Uncle Jack that the practice had been cancelled. If that didn't work, then he'd just have to follow. Burt Hummel wasn't about to let anything happen to his boy.

Burt had tried to convince his brother since he had first awoken, even if his brother seemed to have no inclination of buying what he was selling. Uncle Jack was determined to go to Kurt's practice.

Uncle Jack made it to Kurt's practice.

Burt did not. Some little guy who had just acquired a Sierra 1500 had preoccupied Burt. Well, more as distracted Burt- for this small man knew not a thing about the car, instead he gave his version of the sounds that emitted from the vehicle. Burt had unfortunately lost complete track of time. Leaving Kurt to deal with the grating gaze of Uncle Jack as his messy un-styled hair blew in the breeze.

Kurt was fitter than he looked, he worked out regularly because he enjoyed it. He also had the energy- due to the large amounts of food he consumed. Oh, what he ate was healthy; but he was also a teenage boy, a very hungry teenage boy. So, while most of the football team huffed through warm-ups and drills, Kurt barely broke a sweat. Uncle Jack's eyes followed the boy as he broke from the rest of the team and sat down on the bench.

Kurt's posture was tense as he stared at two male entities making their way towards him. They looked directly at Kurt, shoving each other and whispering.

"Get back onto the field before Coach Tanaka blows his top, dumb shits." Puck barreled into the two boys, sending them stumbling back onto the field.

Puck remembered his father. Puck may have been young, but his father's expression was the same as the one on the face of the man who was sitting in the bleachers. He would come to games, or celebrations, and watch Puck as we went about playing. However, when Puck arrived home it was a different story, he was scolded for things out of his control- of not being mentioned in a teachers speech, or if a different child sang a solo for choir instead of him.

Kurt got up to practice his kick, nervously glancing behind his back at the lone burly man in a sea of metal. Gulping he approached Finn, who was painfully oblivious to the brewing storm in the bleachers.

"You ready buddy?" Finn smiled as he crouched down with the ball, motioning for Matt to start the music.

"No!" Kurt reached instinctively toward Matt. "I don't want the music." Kurt was ashamed at how small his voice was.

Matt was surprised, but just shrugged and jogged over to where the guys were doing some warm-up throws.

Kurt breathed deeply and ignored Finn's confused face, his (slight) attraction for Finn could not show, not in front of Uncle Jack. He forced himself to be completely still, completely focused on not being gay; Kurt forgot that the ball was supposed to go through the goal posts.

It was a phenomenal kick, and it gave a resounding clang as it smacked the bottom bar of the goal. Kurt's eyes grew wide, and Finn whistled.

At first Kurt thought is was the echo of the clang within his own mind, but when he heard the ominous clang of heavy work boots against the metal bleachers he knew he'd blown every chance of Uncle Jack ever accepting him. He clenched his hands so tight the knuckles turned a shocking white. And Uncle Jack entered the field.

"Bull shit." He hissed as he passed Kurt. Spinning around when he had walked ten yards out onto the field. "You can't do the one fucking thing you're supposed too. You get something worthwhile, and you blow it with your wimp ass kick. Hummel's are men, and a man should be able to take a tackle."

Kurt's posture was relaxed- and he wanted nothing more than to cross his arms defiantly, but Uncle Jack would only get angrier.

"Stand still and don't try to dodge." Uncle Jack said as he crouched slightly and prepared to run just as Coach Tanaka blew his whistle with so much force it popped out of his mouth.

"That's extremely dangerous, I can't let you bowl over our best kicker like a crazed teen whizzing over speed bumps at inappropriate velocities!" But Uncle Jack was already running, and Kurt had already accepted his fate. Finn, who had been moving to grab Jack, stopped when Coach Tanaka had mentioned crazed teens, distracted by the inappropriate metaphor.

"_Oof,_" was the only thing that escaped Kurt's mouth as he was picked up off the ground, thrown, and pushed across the grass by the weight of his Uncle.

There was complete silence, save for the rasping breath of the red faced Uncle Jack who loomed over his nephew. No one moved till a ragged intake of breath and harsh coughs were heard from the shaking body curled up on the ground.

It took a moment for Coach Tanaka to run to Kurt's side and help him sit up as his body convulsed. Finn was pushing Uncle Jack away from Kurt.

"What the fuck?" Finns eyes were a blaze as he dug his fists into Uncle Jacks ratty leather jacket. "Were you trying to kill him? He could be seriously injured!" Finn got closer and closer, towering over Uncle Jack and twisting his embedded fingers tighter into the mans shirt.

"Any Hummel can take something like that, he's fine." Uncle Jack shrugged out of Finns grip and turned away. He was stopped with a fist, in his face. The fist came in smashing contact with his flabby cheek and then blew him backwards. Puck didn't say anything as he grabbed Finns arm and made his way back over to Kurt.

Kurt was still on the ground, hyperventilating, and looking as if he were about to pass out.

"Go get the nurse, call 911. I don't want him passing out without some medical help." Coach Tanaka looked worried as Matt and Mike rushed off to the nurses' office, grabbling their cell phones on the way. If Kurt passed out while hyperventilating it could, worst case scenario, cause brain damage.

Puck was kneeling in front of Kurt before Coach Tanaka could finish the thought.

"Breath with me Hummel- in… out…" Puck wrapped his arms around Kurt's back as he forced their chests together. Kurt's heart was a frantic beating against Pucks chest. "In… out… c'mon buddy." Puck rubbed soothing circles on Kurt's back as his breathing slowed. "Right in rhythm with mine… That's it." Puck sighed a bit as Kurt's breathing came in shallow but steady and slow.

Puck then realized just how ridiculous he must look- with Kurt in his lap, and his arms wrapped tightly around the boy, rocking back and forth. Puck was about to pull away when he felt Kurt's hands, which had been smashed between their stomachs tug at his uniform. It was then that he felt the wetness at his collarbone, where he had pushed Kurt's face practically into his armpit. Puck allowed Kurt to discretely wipe his eyes on his uniform before feeling Kurt shift up to rasp a weak "thank you" in his ear and pull away.

Kurt doubled over as he began to stand, and Finn grabbed his elbow and allowed Kurt to lean on his as struggled over to the bench. Finns concern had momentarily distracted him from the fact that NOAH PUCKERMAN had just _soothed_ Kurt.

Finn didn't have to ask, the rest of the football team did for him.

"What the fuck man?"

"That's so nasty."

"Faggot just too hard to resist groaning like that?"

Coach Tanaka rescued Puck from further degrading questions. "100 push-ups boys, and I'm counting." For every ten push-ups Coach Tanaka counted, "One, c'mon yah softies- this to much of a work out for yah?"

Puck crouched down in front of the struggling insulters. "You guys ever had to deal with a small child having an asthma attack?" The majority of the team managed a huffed "No" in between pushes.

"When your body can't get oxygen in, it panics, you have no rational thoughts. All of a sudden you have the need to breath faster, because it will get air in faster. That's not true. People have had brain damage- or have died, from fainting after an asthma attack and not getting help." Coach Tanaka said as he counted the team's third (thirtieth) push-up.

Puck cracked his knuckles and stood up. "My sister takes an inhaler every morning and night so that doesn't happen. I know how to deal with people who need to _breath. _Or, would rather have watched him suffocate and die?" Puck say a majority of the guys sag a bit at the last question, but still there were some that had a look of contempt. As if it were Kurt's own fault for being mauled.

Speaking of that…

Puck looked over his shoulder to the bench where Finn had rested Kurt, and was currently getting a water bottle.

Kurt's expression was detached, not the usual higher-than-thou, upturned, and confident look he sported when in any situation concerning a football player. Excluding Finn, sometimes.

"Who the fuck was that?" Puck stood in front of Kurt. Both had their arms crossed, but Pucks was a 'tell-me-right-now' parent anger sort of crossed; while Kurt had the defiant child 'you-don't-have-to-know-cause-it-won't-happen-again' kind of crossed.

"No one." Kurt's eyes had taken a steely look, refusing to show Puck anything he was feeling. So Puck looked elsewhere. Every time Kurt breathed in, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Pain.

"Don't shit with me-"

"Hey Kurt, how come I saw your Uncle Jack storming down the street with a bruised jaw?" Artie asked, conveniently answering Pucks question, and irritating the hell out of Kurt at the same time.

Puck proceeded to pat Artie on the head and give Kurt a knowing, although slightly snooty look. Artie looked terribly confused, and slightly worried as he stared at Kurt's marginally hunched form. "What happened?" Rolling forward he searched for Kurt's eyes.

"Nothing, just a little mishap." Kurt said it stiffly, and with finality.

"Why is your Uncle Jack here?" Artie expression was angry, and his fists were clenched.

"Needed a place to stay."

"Why would he go to your place?"

"He _is _my Uncle."

"Not after what he did to you."

"Wasn't that bad."

To Puck the conversation was strange and disconnected, although that this probably wasn't the first time Kurt had been hurt by his Uncle. No one was that relaxed when being forced to the ground, not unless they've had it done to them before.

Forced to the ground… Puck didn't want to think about what that meant.

"Do you need a ride home Kurt?" Finn asked.

Kurt never got to answer the poor, unknowing boy. Sirens cut him off when he was going to claim needing fresh air. Then his father cut him off from accepting the ride and getting the hell away from any hospitals.

"He's coming with me." Burt looked infuriated, and his hands were shaking as he squatted in front of his son.

"S'okay dad. Nothing big." Kurt smiled a bit as his father just got angrier. Always jumping to conclusions.

"What'd he do to you?" Burt looked over his son, Kurt's form had its usual prim look, but something was missing. The air around Kurt didn't have the usual reassuring all-knowing sense of rightness… If such a notion made any sense.

Finn decided to put in his two cents. "This dude came storming in from the bleachers, like he had some sort of beef with Kurt. And then the guy just tackles him to the ground. It was crazy."

Kurt had tried to elegantly shut Finn the hell up, but as he lurched towards the dimwitted boy he experienced a sharp pain in his side. With a grunt he folded into himself and fell towards the ground when his waist was grabbed from behind.

"Whoa there, Princess. Trash goes in the garbage, not on the ground." Puck made a snide remark, because snide remarks about Kurt being less than him were mandatory whenever something half way decent was done. This was the way Puck was supposed to work, not the soothing, rocking, mama he had been when he saw Kurt struggling. He was only nice because the dick-wad that had come at Kurt like some sort of avenger reminded him of his dad.

That was the only reason to be even remotely nice to Kurt Hummel.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the songs (Regina Spektor's Raindrops) nor do I own Glee.

Chapter 2

He was physically bigger than Burt or Kurt.

Maybe it was to compensate for small mindedness.

Block it out

Kurt watched his father jab Puck repeatedly in the chest, threatening his life and the condition of the thing that makes him a man. Kurt still wasn't sure if it was being called a Princess, or the trash comment that really got to his Dad.

"…Stick that goal post so far up your ass…" Kurt heard snip-its of the argument and thought back to his Uncle, to the first time he really _saw_ his Uncle.

The memory was dark and unpleasant. It was Kurt's most horrific memory to date. The day his life, and lives of others fell apart.

And only Kurt knew the exact story.

He had been left with Uncle Jack and his first wife, Angelica. They were your average Red neck American family, complete with TV dinners in front of The Wheel of Fortune, because football wasn't on that night. Kurt had been sitting, staring at a wall, for there were no activities suitable for a 12 year-old boy. The couple argued often, and with a viciousness that led to physical assault, on both their parts.

On that day, the day that they took in an impressionable 12 year-old child, they had an argument that changed the lives of everyone present.

"Maybe we should let the kid outside or something, he might have to take a shitter." Said Angelica as she pulled out a cigarette.

"I am perfectly capable of relieving myself in the restroom." Kurt replied, not turning away from the wall. He had taken out a sketchpad not to long ago, and was in the process of drawing a picture of his family.

"'I'm perfectly capable of relieving myself in the restroom.'" Repeated his Uncle in a high-pitched voice. "I can't believe you'd talk back like that, I'm a hafta tell your father 'bout this." Uncle Jack took another sip from his beer with a satisfied smirk.

"That's only if you remember." Kurt finished drawing his father, and went onto his mum.

Kurt's mother had come to America from Britain when she was 18, and forever had an English accent. Though it was never as noticeable as when she first arrived, it was another story when she got angry. Kurt Hummel took after his mother in looks and disposition, and somehow the accent had also been inherited. If Kurt ever got angry enough to really lay into you, his American citizenship would be doubted.

"You little brat, I have a closet just calling your name." Said Kurt's Aunt Angelica, who was stubbing her cigarette out in the remains of broccoli on her TV tray.

"Hey, lets put some home videos in for the kid. Maybe that will shut 'im up." Kurt's Uncle struggled to release himself from the deep recesses of their mustard colored couch.

"I don't want to watch any stupid home videos." Angelica crossed her arms indignantly.

"I thought you loved this shit." Uncle Jack was already rummaging through the boxes in the closet.

"Not since I saw you jerkin' off to one with Eleanor in it." Angelica was out of her seat, and red in the face.

Kurt looked up at the mention of his mothers' name.

"I was never 'jerkin' off' t'anything. I have no idea what you are talkin' about." Uncle Jack was increasingly angry with an equally red face, shaking fists, and spit flying from his mouth.

"Don't think I don't notice the way you look at her! You filthy son of a bitch scum." Angelica was raving as her TV tray flew through the air at her husband.

Kurt was frightened, he knew they had fights, and often hoped that one day they'd end up causing enough damage to get one another hospitalized for mental short comings, but never had he heard of his mother being involved.

"Though, I can't blame you, she is quite nice looking." Angelica went on, smiling devilishly.

"What the hell, bitch? You trying to tell me you're a lesbo?" Kurt's Uncle Jack was practically beside himself with anger, his eyes rolled and he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Kurt watched in horror as blood dripped from his Uncles hand onto the floor, and Angelica picked up a bat, conveniently placed next to her chair. She had obviously known this would be a fight.

A fight over Kurt's _mother._ They liked his mum like his father did. They loved her… No, it wasn't love, whatever it was it was bad, like criminals who forced people into submission. Kurt was intelligent, and he knew that his mom shouldn't be around people who had bad feelings towards her.

"Are you telling me that I married a LESBIAN?" Uncle Jack threw the box of home videos. "You WHORE, SLUT, MOTHER FUCKER." He moved his way towards Angelica, who was wielding the bat like a sword.

Kurt was on the verge of tears, what would these people do to his mother?

_Ring_

'Praise the Lord for phones,' thought Kurt who rushed to the phone.

"H-hello?" Kurt winced at the unexpected stutter, and tried to hold the phone without shaking.

"My boy! How's everything with your Uncle and Aunt?"

Thuds were heard in the TV room that Kurt had escaped from. "I'm going to KILL YOU." Came Uncle Jacks thundering, although muffled voice.

"Not if I kill you first, you're the one who made me this way." Angelica said as the sound of shattered glass hitting the floor reverberated through the hall.

"Are they arguing again?" Burt's blood boiled at the thought of his son being subjected to such foul people, but their babysitter canceled last minute. They'd had no choice, because they had not wanted to show Kurt his Grandmother, who was dying of cancer.

Now Burt regretted that decision more than anything.

"Yeah, they are. Can I talk to mum?" Burt's brows furrowed slightly at Kurt's question, due to the tone of desperation and panic that laced his son's voice.

Kurt, like his mother, had a constant sureness of himself. Kurt was unfailingly kind, and knew who he was. It was his mothers' constant influence that had made Kurt have such a likeable personality. That's why Burt was disturbed by his son's lack of confidence; fear was not common when it came to his son.

"Sure, sure son." Burt handed the phone to his wife with a worried glance.

"What is it baby?" Eleanor's tone was soothing.

"Mum, I want you to stay in the car when you come to get me. Just have dad come to the door. I have a surprise for you." Kurt smiled a bit for he did have a present, the picture of his family.

Eleanor glanced at Burt, questions in her eyes as she replied, "Of course honey, we'll be there in a few minutes."

"Alright mum, love you." Kurt gripped the phone and smiled as his mother said 'I love you' before hanging up. Kurt realized that he had left his sketchpad in the TV room. Kurt took small steps towards the TV room, listening to the bangs and swears.

He walked in on his Aunt and Uncle in a brutal wrestling match. They were tangled together on the floor, with punches and kicks being thrown wildly. Kurt looked down to see his sketchpad had somehow been torn up in the process. Angry tears leaked from Kurt's eyes as he looked at his mother, ripped from the family picture, and about to be rolled on by the mass of lard that was his Aunt and Uncle.

Angelica bit angrily into her husband's ear as she growled. "It's 'cause you were so bad in bed, I just thought of how pretty Eleanor was, how soft her hands were…"

Uncle Jack let out a mighty roar of outrage as Kurt tried to shut out the foul words and pick up the scattered remains of his sketchpad. The doorbell rang and he was forced to leave his mothers picture behind as he raced towards the door.

He opened the door and flew into his father's arms, Angelica and Uncle Jack having enough sense to get up and separate from one another.

"Hello brother, how are you?" Said Uncle Jack as he tried to cover his bleeding wounds.

"I would be better if my son wasn't traumatized by your constant bickering." Burt often got angry with his brother, but forgave him after stretched out periods of time. The last argument they had took him a year to get over.

"We were just playing around. Plus he's a tough little guy, bet he knows the ways of the world better than I do." Sarcasm laced Angelica's voice as she glared at the trembling bundle Burt held in his arms.

"Yeah, well don't expect us to come back anytime soon." Burt gave an angry turn, and stopped dead as the world went to hell.

The car came down the road, screeching with brakes on as it jerked from side to side. Resembling a bat out of hell, it descended upon the lone car parked on the side of the road. Within the lone car was a lone passenger, tuning the radio, with no idea of the danger that was speeding down the road.

Burt gripped Kurt tightly as he stepped down a stair. "No!"

The man was an alcoholic, didn't even have his license on him. Now he's in jail.

Eleanor lived for a few hours in the Intensive Care Unit. The doctors were positive she wasn't going to make it. The hours had been filled mostly with tears, but also with the sobbed "I love you."

"I will watch over you two, I will always love you. Kurt, I have one last request. Sing for me?" Eleanor gave a beautiful smile and her eyes sparkled as she looked hopefully at her son.

Kurt let the tears poor down as he sang a song his mother sang with him, when he first started to become the gay soprano he knew he was.

_You don't know but that's okay_

_You might find me anyway_

_Don't you know that I_

_Belong arm in arm with you, baby_

_In a town that's cold and gray_

_We will have a sunny day_

_Don't you know that I_

_Belong arm in arm with you, baby…_

_I do not know_

_Where does it go_

_When it goes_

_Suddenly though_

_Everything's slow_

_And I miss you so_

_Round each corner there's a chance_

_People searching glance to glance_

_Moving bout real fast_

_Like insects and fish when they're scared_

_And they sing the same old song_

_Though it's been so very long_

_They sing, raindrops falling on my head_

_But that doesn't mean that I am dead_

_And I do not know_

_Where does it go_

_When it goes_

_Suddenly though_

_Everything's slow_

_And I miss you so_

_You don't know but that's okay_

_You might find me anyway_

_Don't you know that I_

_Belong arm in arm with you, baby_

_In a town that's cold and gray_

_We will have a sunny day_

_Don't you know that I_

_Belong arm in arm with you, baby…_

As Eleanor Hummel drifted away, with tears on her face, her hand went slack in her husbands grip. Burt stood up and hugged his son, rocking him back and forth as there most important person drifted to a place neither of them could reach.

Kurt still blames his useless self; he should have just let his mum come to the door.

Burt still didn't know why Kurt got that self-loathing look in his eye. He still didn't know the whole story of what happened that day.

Kurt jerked awake, with tears in his eyes, shaking, and wishing that he'd done something, anything different.

Burt rubbed his son's back with soft smooth circles when he heard the choked sob come from the hunched body next to him.

"His wife is filing a divorce." Said Burt, who was on the couch with his son.

"I knew he had a reason for producing a large bruise on my abdomen." Said Kurt as he struggled to lie back into the position he was in before he had lurched awake.

"I said he could sleep here, but that that was it." Burt looked apologetically at his son.

"S'okay dad, worst has been done." Kurt gave his father a reassuring smile. "I think I'm going to go downstairs." Kurt got off the couch in one swift motion, biting his lip through the stabs of pain.

"You're not going to take a shower?" Burt was surprised at his son's lack of hygienic awareness.

"Nope, I'll take one when I'm done." Kurt said as he left the room.

"Kurt! You shouldn't work out with the injury." Burt made to stop his son, but heard the quiet shutting of a door and decided against it.

_Kick_

_Punch _

_Kick_

_Kick_

Kurt huffed as he glanced at the clock- it had been an hour since he had started working out, and hour since his father left for some parent school meeting gossip thing.

All of a sudden he heard the door slam as two mumbling male voices could be heard. Kurt stopped his Tae Bo DVD and walked up stairs, expecting his Uncle and his father.

"I will not allow you to go out and knock up some girl because you are depressed and drunk." Kurt was surprised when he heard the concerned voice of his father, shouldn't he be angry with his Uncle? Kurt opened the door, only to attempt to close it quickly.

"Kurt!" Burt grabbed his son's arm and forced him into the room, pushing him in front of the visitor.

"Hey." Puck smirked slightly as he waved at the sweaty, disgruntled Kurt.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He was angrier than Burt or Kurt.

Maybe it was because he was too stupid to realize you can't always get what you want.

Can you keep it up

Kurt sat, dumbfounded as his father repeated the story.

Puck scowled, his mother had dragged him to some parent school meeting gossip thing, again. If the fact that he would be listening to Lima gossip was not enough, he was meeting some _nice_ girl his mom wanted to introduce him to.

"Come on sweetie pie. It's not that bad, the people of Lima are so nice." Pucks mother gave a wistful smile, and Puck cursed the fact that his mother had met The Bastard here.

The Bastard was the elegant name Puck had given the man whose blood ran through his sisters' veins. The man was an alcoholic, and wouldn't give a shit as to what his third family was doing, because he had moved on to bigger and better pussy.

Was that a bit too harsh?

Pucks father, or 'Deral' as his family knew him, was a con man, and Pucks family was the third that had been subjected to his oppressing existence. Pucks mother had been swept off her feet by such a charming gentleman, as many a lonely woman was. The Bastard married a woman, convincing them that they could produce a happy family. Then through the allotted amount of time, he would live with his family, and slowly make it hell. Luckily The Bastard left with the birth of Pucks younger sister, but Puck endured 4 years of the man coming to every social event possible and ruining Pucks time.

Four years because Puck had a different father, but even his mother didn't know that man's name.

The Bastard was the one who reminded Puck of the guy who took out Hummel earlier that day. He had the same dominating presence that had lurked around Puck's father whenever something fun was happening.

So, here he was, eating oatmeal cookies and waiting to meet the girl who his mother thought would set him straight.

"Here, Honey, this is Sheryl." His mother proudly grabbed his shoulders and spun him away from the refreshment table. Crumbs fell from his mouth as he stared at Sheryl and his mother discretely urged him to take the hand she was holding out to him.

Was he staring because she was a hot babe?

Nope.

Because such a rocking babe lived in Lima, Ohio?

Wrong again.

Had Noah Puckerman maybe, kinda, sorta, rocked her world before?

Bingo…

One-night stands really knew how to come back and kick you in the ass.

"You ass!" Sheryl gave a hard smack to Puck's face the moment she recognized Puck's stunned face.

There was a lot of this tale that Puck and Burt decided to censor, including Puck's angry mothers rant, a fake I.D., a talk with Dave Karofsky's father, and a stolen motorcycle. Burt and Puck decided not to mention details, to deter any future embarrassment.

Kurt just looked at them before getting up and taking a chicken out of the refrigerator to thaw.

"I really, really want to take a shower." Kurt looked Burt and Puck in the eye before spinning on his barefoot heel and walking towards the bathroom.

Burt smiled, and said, "That was your invitation to stay the night." He clapped Puck on the back before walking into the basement, beckoning the confused teen to follow.

Puck followed Burt down the stairs, and was surprised to see a prim white bed. "Jeez! I can just sleep on the couch Mr. Hummel, I don't need a bed."

Burt chuckled at how flustered Puck looked. "You're sleeping on Finn's bed, not Kurt's, so it's fine. Just, don't go upstairs. I don't think my brother would be to happy to see the boy who punched him in the face having a sleepover with Kurt." Burt tried to make light of the awkward situation, but Puck could tell he was embarrassed.

"If you don't mind me asking… Why is that douche staying in your house? I mean, after what he did to Kurt, aren't you… scared?" Puck fidgeted and looked away from Burt's penetrative gaze.

"You got a sibling?"

"A younger sister."

"Has she made mistakes before?"

Puck smiled as he remembered his sister's embarrassment after she ruined one of his favorite t-shirts. At first he found it impossible to forgive her, but he eventually did due to a well thought out apology gift. But, this was different than a ruined shirt, this was a potentially ruined family.

"Yeah, but… He hurt Kurt, what if he does it again?" Puck wrings his hands, unsure about pressing the issue any further. Burt takes a step closer and grips his shoulder.

"I won't let him hurt Kurt again, he's got some issues, but he is my brother. I just wish he were still the little kid who'd follow me around. He's made some bad decisions, but I think he can fix them…" Burt gave a sigh of defeat before directing Puck to Finn's bed and the bathroom.

"What about my Mom?" Puck was sick of being nervous and unsure, but tonight wasn't going quite like he thought it would.

"I'm meeting her in an hour, she said she'd drop off your stuff, looks like I'm going to be your Step In Dad for a while, kid." Burt looked at Puck for a moment, searching for something. "I don't particularly like you, or the way you treated Kurt, but you helped him out all the same. I appreciate it, but you're still an asshole punk."

Burt walked up the stairs, giving one last look at Puck. "Kurt doesn't need you messing with him. He can handle himself, but kindness is one of his weaknesses. Don't go starting something you may regret, and blame him for it later." With that cryptic last message, Burt stomped up the remaining stairs.

Puck shivered and stared at the door Burt had walked through. He tacked it as another 'Con' on his new Kurt Friendship Pro/Con List. Humming to himself Puck looked around the quaint room. It had a comfortable feel, but something about it was detached.

There wasn't a single picture on Kurt's side of the room. None of his family, friends, or even posters of Lady Gaga or some shit star like that. Puck decided to look at the bookshelf, and was surprised to find some of his own favorites. Books filled with teen action, stuff like Alex Rider, Cherub, Young Sherlock homes, and James Bond littered the shelves.

Puck shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably as he looked at Finn's side of the room. They were friends, but Finn hadn't invited him over to the Hummel-Hudson household yet. His best friends side was much messier, but also a lot more personal. With books spewed across the floors, open notebooks filled with doodles.

That's when Puck noticed the Waldo of Hummel's room, a bright and tattered sketchbook. Puck couldn't resist the invasion of his privacy, and was immediately reminded of his earlier plans to destroy Kurt's wardrobe. He smirked as he opened the book.

The drawings started out crude, and looked as if drawn by a two year old. He grimaced as he started leafing through the worn pages, crosses and scribbles, redrawn eyes and ears frequented the beginning pages.

"What are you doing?" Came the cold voice from behind him.

Puck's first reaction was to slam the book and apologize, but that wasn't who he was supposed to be, especially not to someone like Kurt Hummel.

"Looking at your shit drawings, are you retarded or something?" Puck held up a particularly butchered drawing of a duck.

Kurt merely raised an eyebrow before calmly taking the book from his hands. "You shouldn't use words like 'retard.' It's offensive."

Puck was tempted to look away from Kurt's level stare, but instead squared his shoulders and sneered. "Yeah? You should know 'cause your existence is offensive. I mean, how can your Dad just let me crash here? No say from his precious little son, shows how much he cares about you."

Kurt stared at the man who had helped him mere hours ago. Disappointed in the way people could show such kindness, only to dispute the nicety in a series of vulgar actions. "Your personal issues are no concern of mine, so please keep your self centered anger aimed where it belongs, at yourself."

Puck's shoulders hunched, he saw Kurt's shoulders slump slightly, and the way his eyes looked weary after his comment concerning Kurt's Dad. He wondered how Kurt could be so cold after what he did for him earlier.

Puck used Kurt's coldness as an excuse for the way he acted around Kurt. It was like Kurt lived in this world where he knew everything, and no one could surprise him, or prove him wrong. Puck shouldn't feel ashamed that he was doing nothing to show Kurt people could be different.

But, for some reason, he did.

"I'm going, I'll be back for dinner though!" Called Burt from the first floor, breaking the two boys from their inner musings.

"Okay Dad, be careful." Kurt looked up worriedly at his father. Burt smiled before giving Puck a knowing look, and closing the basement door.

Puck finally looked at Kurt, who had turned around and was making his way over to a seriously over sized mirror accompanied by an equally gigantic desk.

Kurt's matching blue pajamas were another surprise for Puck, who had assumed Kurt would be more likely to wear someone like a frilly nightgown to bed. Again he felt the urge to vandalize the fabulous Kurt ensembles.

It was then that the ominous opening of the front door, and pounds of heavy work boots were heard. Puck saw Kurt tense and shiver, and felt a wave of contempt for the man walking above them.

"What's he done to you?"

Puck cursed himself for letting the question slip so casually, but he couldn't help but want to know what this guy had done to Kurt.

He whipped around in his seat and stared Puck in the eye. "None of your business, Noah, just keep quiet and don't let him see you. I have to finish dinner, just stay down here."

Puck held up his hands as a sign of surrender. "Okay, okay, chill. I'll be fine."

"I wasn't worried for your safety." Kurt swiftly made his way up the stairs and quietly closed the door.

Puck looked around the room once more; again he was drawn to the sketchbook. This time he looked at the back few pages, and was surprised at the improvement. He flipped through the pages, and became witness to an artist taking shape. The pictures of scenery, people, and objects were more than decent.

Puck heartlessly threw the sketchbook onto the shelf where he had found it. Deciding he had had enough insight into Kurt's life for one day he wandered over to Finn's side of the room.

In Finn's case he found a journal. "Why are they so… sensitive? Jesus Christ, writing out your feelings, that's gayer than Hummel's craft book." Puck shook his head condescendingly before flopping on Finn's bed and cracking the book open.

_April… Whatever day it is today, _

_I made a mistake today, but the stress piles high and I take it out on him. I mean, he's like family now; I should be able to treat him like my freakin' bro. So I thought Mr. Hummel kind of overreacted with me saying faggot, everyone calls him that. He didn't even act like it bothered him that much. I'm almost as much of Mr. Hummel's son as Kurt is, so shouldn't he take my side sometimes? Kurt has been nice since he helped me with Quinn, but he's still a faggot. Oops, I'm not supposed to use that word here, having a new family sucks. No one ever takes my side. And this whole thing with Puck being the father of the child that was supposedly mine. I can't take any more of this Rachel, Quinn, Kurt, or Puck drama, why do I have to be at the center of everything? I want to see what my life would be like if there was none of this pregnancy, gay, or Glee stuff that ruins my life. I'm glad Kurt's Uncle is coming; I need a break from him. _

"You look disappointed. Reading not up to your standards?" Puck's head snapped up as he slammed the journal shut.

"Finn's a douche." Puck said simply before throwing the offending piece of literature on the already messy floor.

Kurt looked as if he were going to protest before shrugging. "Nobodies perfect."

Puck looked at him as he stood up. "He called you a faggot." Again he wondered how Burt could let someone who'd hurt Kurt be so close to him.

Kurt frowned and tightened the hold he had on his stomach. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's said it."

Kurt's nervous shifting had brought Puck's attention to his posture. It was oddly hunched, and Kurt looked like he wanted nothing more than to pass out. Puck decided to let it drop, not wanting to push Kurt into an argument. "When's dinner ready?"

Kurt's shoulders dropped a bit in relief, and he opened his mouth to answer when the clanging of pots and pans were heard from above. Kurt's faced paled considerably before he was pushing Puck into his closet. "Keep quiet, no matter what."

The door banged open, and Puck gazed in a bored manner as the infamous Uncle Jack lumbered down the stairs. He smirked seeing the burly man's purpling jaw.

"What can I do for you Uncle Jack?" Kurt's stance was relaxed; he seemed confident, friendly, even.

"You can clean up your fucking shit, and stay down here for the rest of the night, you little shit. I'm inviting some of my buds over. None of them want to see your dumb ass mulling around up there." Uncle Jack approached Kurt threateningly, and Puck saw the first bits of uneasiness creep into Kurt's shoulders.

"My father will be home soon, and-"

"Who gives a shit about your Dad, you little fucker."

"This is MY home-"

Kurt was once again cut off, but not by words. Uncle Jack took quick strides until he was looming over Kurt.

"No!" The only verbal refusal given before Uncle Jack was pushing him onto the ground. Puck watched in horror, imagining all sorts of torture that could befall Kurt. What came next was completely unexpected.

Uncle Jack began to tickle Kurt.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jack couldn't seem to understand the complexity of a person.

Or maybe Kurt and Burt were just too complex to understand.

Dude, where's my guitar?

Puck stared in awe at the spectacle going on before him.

Tickling?

Really? That was the horrible form of torture that Hummel and his little prissy ass had to endure?

But, then, Uncle Jack didn't stop.

Even though Kurt was screaming, loudly. There was no mirth, or legs kicking in spastic joy. Instead there was a terrified high-pitched scream, and Kurt's body had locked up, but Jack wouldn't stop.

All of a sudden Puck was very scared, it was probably one of the scariest moments of his life. He couldn't see Kurt's face, but he could hear the screams, see how tense Kurt's body was, how white his knuckles were. It was frightening, and if he came out of the closet, there would be hell to pay.

Came out of the closet… And everything clicked. Kurt's change of clothing, the missing Glee, and his Uncles crazy reaction to Kurt's kick, all because he was gay and his Uncle didn't know it.

Puck would bet his guitar that it's because Uncle Jack would beat the living shit out of Kurt. Hell, he bet this jack ass would go Godzilla bat shit crazy, set some Day Care Centers on fire, and rape kittens.

And then it was done, the tickling stopped, but the older man still loomed over Kurt. Small, and shivering, Kurt coughed and curled tighter into himself. Puck's hand was clenched painfully around the doorknob of Kurt's closet.

"You little bitch, so obstinate. News flash: I'm bigger than you, older than you, and more intelligent than you. Who's gonna believe you, who looks enough like your whore mother to be a faggot."

Kurt looked like he was dead. Puck saw it; the mention of Kurt's mother had expelled any oxygen from Kurt's lungs. He didn't move until Uncle Jack had shut the door upstairs.

Puck slammed the door open, uncaring to the resounding bang that reverberated throughout the stale white room. The room that had became more akin to some sort of insane asylum prison cell with Kurt wheezing and shaking on the sterile white bed.

"Kurt, Kurt, Jesus Christ what the HELL was that." Puck shakes Kurt's tense body, and saw how glazed over Kurt's eyes were.

Puck wanted to stop the scared twisted feeling in his gut.

Kurt pushed himself and crossed his arms over his stomach, hunching into himself and rocking slightly. "That was nothing, you saw nothing, and therefore we have nothing to talk about."

"You're so stupid, you think I can just sit and watch shit as weird as that and not say anything? Tickling, really?" Puck scooted closer to Kurt and grabbed his neck roughly, forcing Kurt to look him in the eye. "I'm just trying to look out for you dude."

Kurt pulled away swiftly, "Ha, very funny Mr. Puckerman. I don't need your pity. I don't need your help, you don't understand enough to help."

"Fuck you! I'm just trying to help, I'm not a total dick."

"I know what you are Noah? You are a paper gangster." Kurt stood and spun in front of Puck.

"What the fu-"

_Cause I do not accept any less_

_Then someone just as real, as fabulous _

_Don't want no paper gangsta_

_Won't sign away my life to someone_

_Who got the flavor but don't have no follow through_

_Don't want no paper gangsta_

_Won't sign no monkey papers_

_I don't do funny business, not interested in fakers_

Kurt huffed and turned away from Puck.

"I'm not assigning you as a stripper Hummel, Jesus." Puck shifted and stood.

"You don't get it! I don't want to be your stripper; you don't want to be my friend, at least not long term. Get with the program Puckerman, once we get to school- or are graced with the presence of ANY sort of third party to this communication love fest, you will not like me."

"Oh, come off your huffy horse Hummel, all I'm trying to do is figure out why that guy scares the shit out of you, I'm not signing a contract to eternal servitude."

Kurt disbelievingly stared at Puck, "So all you want to know is why my Uncle hates me?"

"Yah, that's it. We'll roast marshmallows and it'll be like telling ghost stories."

Kurt got right in Puck's face, "Go dig a ditch. And. Die. In. It." Kurt turned away, trying to flee up the stairs before Puck could do anything Kurt would have trouble accessorizing with.

Puck growled and grabbed the fleeing soprano, "If your gonna sing a song about me being a fucking pimp daddy, you should get a taste off your own medicine." Puck tugged on Kurt's wrist until they were face-to-face, and very close.

Puck smirked and leaned forward.

_If I could write you a song to make you fall in love_

_I would already have up, under my arm_

_I used up all of my tricks_

_I hope that you like this_

_But you probably won't _

_You think you're cooler than me_

_You got designer shades just to hide your face_

_And you wear them around like you're cooler than me_

_And you never say hey or remember my name_

_And it's probably cause you think you're cooler than me_

Puck finished and gave a languid smile while Kurt bristled.

"At least you're fully aware of out social situation, now please unhand me." Kurt looked Puck challengingly in the eye; turning away he gave a second attempt at escape.

Foiled again he found himself dangerously close to a towering Noah Puckerman.

"You really frustrate me." Puck's breath washed over Kurt's face, and Kurt shivered while looking into Puck's confused face. "I just want to help out."

Kurt allowed himself to be close to Noah for a few minutes, searching his eyes, before dropping his head and pulling his hand away from Puck's larger one.

Kurt walked quickly to the stairs and sprung up two steps at a time. "I'm going to get dinner. Try and restrain your animalistic tendencies while I'm away."

Puck growled and sat heavily on the couch. All he wanted was some information on why Hummel was acting all reclusive and emo; he didn't want a fucking life story.

"You look like a dinosaur." Kurt's clear voice rang and he sat to attention.

"Pizza? I thought you were making dinner."

"I did make it, you fool. Papa Johns has nothing on some home made deep dish."

Puck smiled and took the white plate from Kurt's hand, admiring the peppers, cheeses, and meats littering the steaming slice of pizza.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

Puck looked up, surprised. "You got any action?"

Kurt looked uncertain before bending down and reaching for a DVD case. Standing up he turned to Puck, who was in his space bubble, looking at him with scary intensity.

"Can I help you?" Kurt hunched into himself, trying to create space between him and a boy that's tortured him since second grade.

"Why are you so defensive? Can't you just chill and… I don't know, be normal?" Puck's tone was only questioning, there were no judgments or assumptions.

Kurt let his shoulders sag and his brow furrow. "Normal as in I should want to be with girls, I should have a lot of friends, and I should come home to a family, not just a father?" Kurt took a menacing step forward. "It is none of your business how I live my life or how I behave, much less is it your business concerning the way my Uncle behaves."

Puck hadn't stepped back, so he was chest to chest with Kurt, who was looking at him for an answer.

Puck kind of wanted an answer too. An answer to why he cared so much about some gay kid with a shit life, why he wasn't at all disturbed with how close he was to said gay kid, and why said gay kid looked really nice with flushed cheeks and emotional eyes.

"I rely heavily on impulses, impulses keep life half way interesting, and allow me to decide my own fate."

Kurt was spooked to say the least at Puck's little comment on life, and tried to move away from him, only to back into the television set behind his back. "What sort of nonsense are you spewing? Puckerman, this is not funny, just drop the stuff about my Uncle and let's watch Sherlock Holmes."

Puck was a man of action, of impulse.

So he kissed Kurt, full on the lips.

Kurt's eyes went wide in surprise, and his hands came up to push Puck away. Puck simply grabbed the two hands and pressed them to his chest, his other hand moving to the back of Kurt's head.

The kiss was gentle, explorative, testing the boundaries that no longer existed in the territory they had entered.

Puck inhaled as he removed himself from Kurt, and ran the tip of his nose down Kurt's jaw line.

"You don't want to do this Noah, just get the hell away from me and we can forget this ever happened." Kurt trembled, his eyes still closed, he didn't want to face Noah, and he didn't want to acknowledge the recent event. Puck just hummed and released one of Kurt's hands from his grip, only to hold it with his now free hand.

Twirling Puck started to dance with Kurt. Puck smiled, and softly began to sing.

_If I could write you a song to make you fall in love_

_I would already have up, under my arm_

_I used up all of my tricks_

_I hope that you like this_

_But you probably won't _

_You think you're cooler than me_

_You got designer shades just to hide your face_

_And you wear them around like you're cooler than me_

_And you never say hey or remember my name_

_And it's probably cause you think you're cooler than me_

_You got your high brows_

_Shows on your feet_

_And you wear 'em around like it ain't shit _

_But you don't know the way that you look _

_When your steps make that much noise_

_I got you all figured out_

_You need everyone's eyes just to feel seen_

_Hey, you're so vain_

_You probably think this song is about you, don't you, don't you?_

Kurt pushed away from a laughing Puck, "I don't need your bullshit. I don't need you messing with me, and trying to learn about me with no actual commitment to being pleasant to me on a daily basis."

"It's not like I'm signing my death sentence, so what if I'm not nice, the Puckster doesn't need to be nice to be lo~ved." Puck waggled his eyebrows and moved closer to Kurt.

Backing up Kurt exclaimed, "What are you doing? Noah, you just snogged me, and now you're singing about how much of a bitch I am, really? I don't need you to act like I'm some sort of charity case, all I want is to be left alone, and you to stop nosing around in my life."

"Relax, I don't think your charity, I've dated homeless chicks before, and it ain't all that great. Sure, they're willing to put out, but I'm not putting my family jewels into any holes that look like they're filled with barnacles, you get me?" Puck was at ease, messing with Kurt, he let the familiarity wash over him. Forgetting his impulsive smooch and dance number for the time being.

"Ew, I have never even considered two disgusting things you described in that story." Kurt was slightly astounded, could he and Puck just leave it at that, and forget the last five minutes of their lives?

"I still like girls, yah know?"

"I'm certainly aware on how much you appreciate the opposite gender Mr. Puckerman."

"But, I think I like you better than most chicks."

At this Kurt stopped, his forgotten pizza slice already half way to his mouth. "You haven't had a civil conversation with me since we met. Plus, you tormented me for years, and I'm pretty sure the last time I smelt dumpster, you were homophobic."

Puck sat back a little, thinking, and he wasn't good with words, he always was an impulse kind of person.

"Maybe you can cure me of my homophobia, how does that sound?"

"Not appealing in any way shape or form."

"A date, for a pal?"

"You are in no way my pal."

"If we went on a date maybe you would become my pal…" Puck looked hopefully at Kurt, because a date was definitely not a topper on his list of most impulsive things.

Kurt sighed, before the bang of the front door was heard.

"WHERE'S MA BABY?"

Kurt shook his head and smiled, "Ah, Mercedes, always with the flashy entrance."

XxX

I'm… not going to be killed with pitchforks and hanged, am I?

I honestly really appreciated all the reviews; I know the cliffy was bad. I actually am Pteronophobic, which I am pretty sure is a phobia of being tickled, because an adult wouldn't stop when I was little. It is also used as a torture technique.

This chapter is a bit different, so if anyone has any criticisms, or things they like especially I really appreciate it.

Special shout out to **nonexistantpuppy** I really appreciated the things you pointed out about my story, and I hope you like the chapter.

I'm so sorry for the late update, but I've had a really bad experience with soccer, which I want to continue for the rest of my life. Lately there are so many setbacks that I feel really discouraged. If any high school students, or any students, want to talk about issues they have, I would really like to talk to you.

Is that weird?

I appreciate the support extremely. I hope you enjoyed.


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